


the taste of tears

by TheHiddenPassenger



Category: Star Wars, the clone wars
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 17:24:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6018325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHiddenPassenger/pseuds/TheHiddenPassenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deep meditation leads Obi-Wan to a brief encounter with his beloved master after the liberation of Ryloth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the taste of tears

**Author's Note:**

> Here's another short one. Obijinn and Obikin present and accounted for. Please enjoy.

 

Eyes bluer than the brightest Naboo sky scanned the liberated planet of Ryloth, wide with an almost childlike wonder and yet deep as one with ageless wisdom, perhaps not learned from one lifetime, but many. The Open Circle fleet continued its orbit of the planet as High Jedi Master General Obi-Wan Kenobi stood, side by side with his former padawan, General Anakin Skywalker, surveying the work they had done. Both men were banged up, armor scuffed and cracked, bruises beginning to form on foreheads and jaws, and further still, under clothes where it could not be seen. And on hearts, where it would only be felt.

“I miss him,” Anakin said suddenly, tilting his gaze just enough to watch Obi-Wan out of the corner of one eye, a scar marring his dusty flesh and running from brow to cheek.

“Master Qui-Gon would have been… proud to see you grow up, Anakin,” responded Obi-Wan, knowing of whom Anakin spoke without the need to clarify. The _Negotiator_ 's observation deck was just below the bridge and afforded the Jedi room to meditate and sequester themselves—to a degree—without much disturbance. Anakin's fingers laced into Obi-Wan's gently as he spoke again.

“I… think he'd have been proud to see _you_ do the same,” he reminded the elder Jedi. Obi-Wan had been hardly more than a boy when Darth Maul struck a killing blow to his beloved teacher and friend. He had held the man in his arms while his life slipped away, made him a promise to guard and guide and teach Anakin, the Chosen One.

“Perhaps,” Obi-Wan's voice held none of its usual lilting condescension or sardonic humor, but something of a thick sadness. They never spoke of Qui-Gon Jinn. In fact, most of the Jedi Order seemed content on avoiding that subject. Perhaps it was out of respect for his surviving padawan, the youngest man to be elected to the Jedi High Council, Obi-Wan Kenobi.  
Perhaps it was out of fear.

They all knew something of Qui-Gon Jinn's contempt for parts of their sacred Code and, while Obi-Wan himself never seemed to display any desire to follow in those particular footsteps, maybe no one saw the need to tempt him. If only they knew. Anakin's prosthesis squeezed Obi-Wan's hand gently, a silent reminder that he was here, with him, willing to listen if the need arose.

“Tell me something about him, Master,” Anakin mumbled, tugging Obi-Wan to the cold, metallic ground with him, situating himself to calm his mind and meditate. It was an odd switch, as Obi-Wan was generally the one to suggest such an alternative. The older man followed and faced Anakin, their hands clasped, one to the other, fingers laced between them.

“Many loved my master,” Obi-Wan whispered, “and why not? He was… everything a Jedi should be, kind, gracious, peaceful… and so righteous, even the Code couldn't seem to keep up with him.”

Anakin chuckled, thinking of all the times he had broken the Code in order to pursue a goal or cause he felt more worthy. Padmé leapt immediately to mind, those shining eyes of hers and the radiant smile to go with it, but then there was the man sitting right in front of him, a man whose freckles he'd personally counted as a moon or two hung over them and spilled silvery light in on one taboo tableau after another. Oh, he would have gladly shattered the Jedi Code to bits for Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“I know, Master, but please… tell me something I _don't_ know, something only _you_ know.”

There were a great many things, as Qui-Gon Jinn had all but raised Obi-Wan Kenobi from a child, teaching him everything he knew and many things he did not. Such had been Jinn's wisdom.

“I… can't...” Obi-Wan shook his head, unbidden tears falling, ungainly, from heartbreaking blue eyes. He kept his head down, swallowing hard, jaw tightening.

“Then...then close your eyes and...remember him,” Anakin fumbled about for a response to his former master's distress, “just meditate with me.”

He tilted his head forward to meet Obi-Wan's, resting their foreheads together, eyes closed, losing themselves to the Force and whatever it had to offer. Anakin was transported to Naboo—to his wedding, that most secret of secrets. Obi-Wan found himself in a field...alone.

It was not a planet he recognized, nor one he thought he had ever visited. This felt different, more a vision than a memory, perhaps. The Force was all around him—as always, but this time it felt more tangible, more real. It was as though he had stepped out of himself and into that which drove the universe, pushing it this way and that. Whatever the case, the field was warm and the sun was on his face, kissing it softly with heat. He felt himself settle down into the golden grass and lie back.

The embrace that surrounded him as soon as his eyes closed was so painfully familiar, the Jedi master felt a stab of anguish lance through his heart and more tears come to his eyes. The lips that kissed those tears away were accompanied by familiarity and calm, a voice he had not heard in years and a scent that drove him to the brink. Yet he dared not open his eyes, for fear of losing it all.

“I am so proud of you, little Obi,” Qui-Gon Jinn's voice resonated through the field, the air, every stalk of grass, as if this place had been made for him, or by him. It was unclear, but that was not Obi-Wan's focus.

“Master...” Obi-Wan felt the word rise to his lips naturally, as if it had always been there, awaiting his summons, as if he longed to bestow it upon _someone_.

“It seems like _you_ are the master now,” responded Jinn with a smile in his voice. “A member of the Jedi High Council and your padawan is a master with his own student. I knew I left everything in good hands.”

Judging by the shift of weight, Master Qui-Gon was settled next to his former apprentice, one hand resting on his chest, tracing shapes as he spoke, an easy, gentle pose...and one with which he had more than once proceeded to break the Jedi Code. Still, Obi-Wan's eyes remained closed.

“Anakin is a good man,” Obi-Wan responded weakly, unable to form all the words his mind was screaming at him to say. Who knew how long he had with his late master? Time was short, best to keep things succinct—but there was so much he needed to tell Qui-Gon. So much had happened and changed and Obi-Wan simply needed to say it himself, regardless whether his master knew it or not.

“That he is,” agreed Jinn, “and he is well on his way to becoming a great one.”

Obi-Wan remained silent for several moments, eyes still squeezed tightly shut, absorbing and processing all the sensations his mind and body were feeding him. He felt a decade younger, but the presence of fuzz on his face told him that he had not, in fact, discovered the secret to eternal youth. Perhaps it was just Jinn's presence that brought out the boy in him. The general turned over, then, curling into his late master's warmth, grasping him and tugging him as close as he could.

“This war, I fear, will be the end of us both,” muttered Obi-Wan, expressing deeply held but never-spoken fears to the master he had loved and lost. He was not even certain what Qui-Gon thought of the war to begin with, or how such information and knowledge was passed through the Living Force to its denizens.

“It will be the end of a great many things,” responded the elder Jedi cryptically, “but those aren't for me to reveal, little Obi.”

Of course, Obi-Wan knew the rules—or understood a semblance of them. It was not good for a man to know his own future. Such knowledge was forbidden for a reason and the wise man knew when he ought to leave well enough alone. General Kenobi had never prided himself on his wisdom, but he knew how to stay out of trouble. Anakin was the one exception to this rule in his life.

“I won't ask anything, master, but can… could you at least point me in a direction that might aid Anakin?” At this point, Anakin Skywalker was the focal beacon in Obi-Wan's existence. Almost everything he did, regardless of its original purpose, had something to do with the young man. Qui-Gon Jinn had tasked Obi-Wan with the immense responsibility of guarding and guiding a boy he believed to be the Chosen One of ancient Jedi prophecy. Not a day went by that the young Jedi master didn't pray he was not failing Anakin.

“You're a wise man, Obi-Wan,” responded the older man, squeezing his former padawan tightly. “I have faith you will follow the path the Force has laid out before you.”

It was as good an answer as Obi-Wan was going to get and he decided to pursue it no further, opting instead to absorb the warmth and affection his master was radiating with those powerful arms of his. It had been so long, he had forgotten what Qui-Gon's embrace felt like. It did not disappoint.

Slowly, Obi-Wan forced himself to tilt his face upward. His eyes were still tightly closed, retaining the fear of losing Jinn once more. He could feel the old Jedi's throat, warm and pulsing with life, through the fuzz of his own beard and soft lips. The last time he tasted the sweat on Qui-Gon's flesh, he had been a much younger man—no grizzle, few scars, and no beard of which to speak. This time, they met as equals.

“I'm not young anymore, Master,” Obi-Wan observed dourly, “and this war is...well it _does_ drag on.”

He fairly tasted Qui-Gon's gentle laughter, bubbling up from deep in his belly and through that warm throat on which Obi-Wan's lips were softly settled.

“How I have missed your humor,” said the old Jedi, the smile evident in his voice. “And do open your eyes; I'm not going to disappear. This vision—it's what you came here for. It will not end until you are finished.”

Slowly, Obi-Wan peeled them open, adjusting slowly to the soft, twilight-colored lighting around them. The field that had once been sun-drenched was now bathed in deep oranges and reds, like fire—or blood. But Qui-Gon had not bled, had he? Lightsaber wounds never left a crimson trail.

“What is this place?” He knew it was silly to ask, but the curiosity was gnawing at him. Once more, Qui-Gon answered with a chuckle, adding a knowing shake of his head.

“It's a place of peace,” responded Obi-Wan's late master gently, “and I will remind you again that it is _your_ place of peace.”

That little revelation _did_ explain the almost _out_ -of-place sense of tranquility Obi-Wan had felt upon “waking up” here. It really wasn't a place at all, but a frame of mind, a transcendence of which most Jedi merely dreamed. But Obi-Wan had always been skilled in the ways of meditation. The Living Force had a certain, vibrant way about it, after all.

With great care, Obi-Wan finally managed to tilt his chin upward, ignoring the agonizing fears at the back of his mind that this would all pass away too soon—the knowledge that, while it was real in one way, he would soon need to return to Anakin. The face which greeted him held a pair of steel gray eyes and the most gentle smile he had ever seen on a Jedi, that detached caste of lightsaber-wielding monks, among which he himself had been counted as one of the foremost.

“If this is my peace...why has it taken so long to reach…?” By all the things he'd been taught as a youngling, Obi-Wan had assumed his personal space of tranquility was his alone to command and call up as needed. Evidently, this was not the case. Qui-Gon shook his head and shrugged.

“Perhaps your happiness has long eluded you, little Obi,” came the gentle suggestion. “To have peace, sometimes we must also find happiness—if only a little.”

Obi-Wan was having trouble picking out the happiness in his life. It was only natural. A genuinely peaceful man, thrust into the role of general, commanding an army of thousands, sending them to their deaths in many cases, at the very center of a war without end—adding those things up did not immediately reveal any source of joy for the Jedi Knight.

“I don't… have any, Master,” said Obi-Wan, despondency lacing his gently lilting voice. “Where is the joy among so much sorrow, and loss? The droid armies march over planet after planet; we're barely holding up!”

“Calm your mind,” Jinn warned, smile fading just a little. He was not at liberty to reveal much else to Obi-Wan, but he could comfort him. Where the living Jedi looked into a mirror and saw a man of middle-age, the deceased saw the boy he raised and trained, the soft, taut flesh, the plump, red lips, and those irresistible freckles. Qui-Gon pressed his lips to Obi-Wan's, gently. The gesture was hardly hesitant, but there was very little urgency to it, either. It—much like this place, this state of being, of mind—simply was.

Obi-Wan's eyes opened to the sufficient, yet hardly brilliant illumination of the _Negotiator'_ s artificial lighting. Ryloth, also provided some light, but it was, for the most part, dim where the two Jedi had settled themselves. Obi-Wan's gauntlet-covered hands were still clasped in Anakin's and the younger man was observing him with some concern.

“Obi-Wan, where did you go?” Anakin queried, leaning forward to once more place his forehead against his former master's, as they had been when Obi-Wan's vision had begun. “I felt… it's as though you weren't here at all; I could only sense you...distantly.”

Obi-Wan blinked through a veil of tears clinging to thick lashes and swallowed hard. How was he to tell Anakin that he'd spoken with and embraced his beloved master, the man who had orchestrated Anakin's freedom—a man ten years dead? He squeezed his eyes shut once more and shook his head minutely.

Anakin squeezed his friend's hands and then laced their fingers, holding them out to either side. He wanted Obi-Wan to look at him, but didn't feel the need to push him into anything. Whatever his former master had seen was keeping him silent, which frightened Anakin. Silence was hardly his safe zone.

“I saw him again, Anakin,” responded the beleaguered Jedi, lifting his face just enough so Anakin could see the sparkling constellation on dark lashes. His blue eyes were thrown into brilliant relief against the backdrop of red.

“Was… he well?” Anakin couldn't think of anything else to ask, so astonished was he at this revelation. Obi-Wan nodded.

“He was,” said the elder Jedi. He found Anakin's hands on either side of his face momentarily—both so gentle despite one being artificial—kissing away his tears and then pulling their mouths together.

Kissing Anakin was like drowning, a little panicky at first because of the implications of such an attachment and then completely calm, as his taste filled Obi-Wan's mouth. Similarly, pulling away was like coming up for air, a gasping relief that also held some sadness with regards to what could have been.

After all, drowning was not so bad.

 

**Author's Note:**

> It's as though I enjoy making myself smile and cry in the same TINY fic. How? Why? Either way, I hope I've conveyed the thoughts and feelings of these iconic characters with some accuracy and fluidity. 
> 
> May the Force be with you.


End file.
